


Overdressed

by Meilan_Firaga



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Nudity, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-06-27 15:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15688155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga
Summary: Living in Grimmauld Place after the war, Hermione has taken to disappearing each day. She’s very cagey about where she’s going, and it’s driving Sirius absolutely bonkers. Rating is for descriptions of nudity only.





	Overdressed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2018 HP Drizzle fest. Many thanks to campchitaqua for taking the time to beta for me! 
> 
> This is a Sirius Lives! AU with an unspecified means of winning the war. Everyone is of-age.

The oppressive heat of summer in London was beyond miserable. Even with the vigorous application of cooling charms, Grimmauld Place was uncomfortably similar to a sweatbox. The dark rooms felt even more close than they did in the best of weather, and, since being in close proximity to others just increased the heat of the space, absolutely no one in residence was in a particularly good mood. The political climate, at least, was much cooler than it had been during the height of Voldemort’s second rise to power. For the most part the wizarding world had become both peaceful and progressive, and its heroes were spending their first summer after the megalomaniac’s defeat in a haze of self-prescribed laziness. All of which, of course, made the terror of the heat wave much more bearable.

Of the six human residents of Grimmauld Place, only one seemed to be enjoying the risen temperatures. Were any of the other residents aware of the dangers of having curly hair prone to excessive amounts of frizz in hot, humid climates they might have cause to wonder why Miss Hermione Granger was so thrilled with the newfound warmth. She wasn’t exactly known for her keen observance of the weather or, for that matter, her enthusiasm for being outside. Still, from the first day the thermostat edged its way to thirty degrees she’d consistently disappeared for hours on end in the name of ‘enjoying the sunshine’. Where she went… well, that was anyone’s guess. She’d been through so much in the war. Really, if anyone deserved to skip out and slack off it was clearly Hermione.

At least, that’s how Harry, Ron, Remus, and Tonks felt about it. Sirius, on the other hand, was painfully curious as to where she was going when she wandered off. She didn’t even take more than a single book with her when she disappeared! And the book she took was always an actual novel rather than something non-fiction! Such a departure from the usual routine was enough to make even the most serious and intellectual of wizards contemplate the possibility of a pod-person taking the place of the household’s favorite know-it-all.

Naturally, of course, this meant that Sirius Black—recently pardoned wizard of outstanding moral fiber—simply had to make sure his godson’s friend was alright.

The problem was that for a Gryffindor Hermione could be downright shifty. He’d tried the upfront method of simply asking where she was going. He’d tried appealing to her friendly nature but asking to tag along. He’d even gone to such extreme lengths as borrowing James’ old invisibility cloak from Harry and attempting to follow her. She’d dodged his questions with a skill for redirection that would make any Slytherin proud. When asked if she’d like company she’d managed to get him so turned around that he’d found himself in the kitchen washing the breakfast dishes the muggle way before he’d quite realized that she’d tricked him, and then when he’d tried to follow her—well, in perhaps the most embarrassing turn of all she’d managed to twist and turn through the straightforward passageways of Grimmauld Place until she had literally lost him in his  _ own house _ . It chafed at his pride.

Sirius had been ‘on the case,’ as it were, for a week and he was no closer to finding out where Hermione went every day than he’d been before he’d started trying to puzzle it out. The only thing he felt he knew for sure (as he reshelved a collection of transfiguration texts in the library that he hadn’t even known needed reshelving until a particular bushy-haired lady had pointed it out when he’d tried to join her that morning) was that she was having a very grand time distracting him from learning the truth. She never used the same tactic twice in their conversations, and the convoluted ways she ditched him when he followed her in the cloak were getting more erratic in the way only an intense and intentional game of cat and mouse could. It didn’t help that the thermostat was pushing thirty-five degrees. The house had become so oppressive that the game was losing its appeal in a haze of frustration. Sweat was dripping down his nose by the time he finished with the reshelving and shuffled up to his room to lay down and be still.

He stripped the moment he crossed the threshold into his bedroom and flopped down on the mattress, casting another cooling charm as he went. He sighed in relief as the charm began to work on his heated skin, drying the sweat that coated him. With his head hanging off one side of the bed his eyes fell to one of the many posters of scantily clad women he’d hung as a teenager and never found a need to remove or replace. In particular, his gaze was drawn to an image from a muggle calendar of a woman emerging from a pool and untying the strings her of her bikini top. In the image he could clearly see the line of pale skin where the the top had protected it from the sun’s harsh rays. His eyes slipped closed and he saw instead a parade of the tiny-shorts-and-strappy-crop-top outfits Hermione had been wearing around the house of the last week.

All of a sudden, Sirius shot to his feet.

He knew where she was.

Yanking up a pair of shorts, he didn’t bother with any more clothing as he stalked through the house. None of the outfits Hermione had been wearing held the same silhouettes. She’d worn thick straps, thin straps, no straps. Her tops had been high cut and so low cut they practically followed a vee down to her navel. Her shorts were as long as mid-thigh or even so short that they’d barely seemed longer than a pair of knickers. The longer the summer sunshine persisted, the darker Hermione’s skin had become, lending her the golden glow of a woman who’d spent significant time outdoors.

Not once had he seen a single tan line.

Sirius hadn’t been on the roof of his childhood home in so long that he’d almost forgotten about the hidden stair to access it. Nestled on the third floor landing, tucked behind a hideous tapestry, was a short hallway leading to a rickety spiral staircase. It curved up an empty hollow at the back of the house all the way to a tiny single room with a door to the roof. When he was younger, the roof had been where he’d run to escape. He’d dreamed about so many things on that roof. Some of those dreams had even come straight from the posters he still had on the walls. Now, as he made his way up the last few steps and let his hand fall to the doorknob he very fervently hoped that he might be about to find a dream turned reality. Every smirking comment Hermione had thrown at him in the last week suddenly seemed incredibly suggestive, and there was no denying that he’d been flirting with her since the moment she was legal. Grinning with hope, he twisted the knob and stepped out into the sunshine.

“I was wondering when you’d sort it all out.”

No fevered teenage dream could even begin to compare.

There she lay, a scant few feet from the door. She’d transfigured something into a spacious lounge and was stretched across the cushions on her stomach. The latest in her selection of novels was held against the roof below the lounge as she laid with her head over the edge to study the pages. The riotous curls of her hair were twisted into a knot at the top of her head, several tendrils hanging free.

She had not a stitch of clothing on.

Sirius let his eyes wander the full length of Hermione’s body, marveling at the expanse of smooth, tanned skin. “You could have just given in and told me where you were going.”

The corner of her lips quirked up in a smirk. “And where would the fun be in that?” Slowly, deliberately, she marked her place and closed the book. Before he could come up with a quip in retaliation she rolled to one side, treating him to an unhindered view of the entire front of her body. 

“For fuck’s sake, Hermione,” he breathed, fairly well awed by the first woman he’d seen naked outside of his own head since before he’d gone to Azkaban. Her breasts were small but perky, dark nipples pebbled despite the heat. There wasn’t an ounce of baby fat left on her toned body, and between her thighs nestled a neat triangle of dark curls. In short, she was a fantasy come to life. Teenage Sirius wouldn’t have been able to come up with something like her in his dizziest daydreams.

Hermione studied him for a long moment, her eyes traveling from the sloppy ponytail he’d tucked his hair into down the sculpted planes of his chest to the waistband of the shorts he’d hastily tugged over his hips. “Aren’t you a little overdressed for this party?”

He didn’t have to be told twice.


End file.
